Sail Out to Sea!

The night of Holy Thursday, April 8, 2004, is full moon and silent. Around midnight, I find myself in nocturnal adoration in the chapel of Pimientita, Quintana Roo, Mexico, fighting one of the decisive battles of my vocation.

Pimientita is a poor community of no more than 45 families who live off the land. Almost all families are divided or fighting because a son or brother has switched to one of the 5 temples of various sects. The Catholic chapel is nothing more than a palapa with “walls” of sticks and a roof of guano. The classroom of the poor little school in the town and several of the temples have more benches and are better lit and equipped than the poor little chapel, which is adorned with a simple altar, a crucifix, and a couple of religious images: the Virgin and another saint. It has no tabernacle, but the missionaries have enjoyed the presence of the Eucharist since the parish priest entrusted me, as an extraordinary minister of communion, to celebrate the paraliturgies of Holy Week and left me a ciborium with the Blessed Sacrament to distribute communion. That night I accompany him remembering his agony in Gethsemane. I also fight my battle to say yes to God’s plan. For three years, God has given me to understand through various gestures that He is calling me to be a priest, but I do not want… yet.

It all started four years ago, during Holy Week of the year 2000. I was in third year of secondary school at the Cumbres Mérida Institute and regularly participated in the activities and apostolates of ECYD. My best friend had been invited by the consecrated members of Regnum Christi to Holy Week missions in the small towns at the foot of Pico de Orizaba. Since he didn’t want to go alone, he invited me to go as well, even though I had no idea exactly where it was, what the plan was, or the purpose of these missions. We decided to go together, asked our parents for permission, bought plane tickets, and paid the registration fee. However, a few days before traveling, his parents withdrew permission. I decided to go alone.

Upon arrival, I found a large group of young people from other cities, among whom I quickly made new friends, and with a group, we were assigned to mission the small town of Tuzantla and its surroundings, full of forests and fields of calla lilies, my favorite flower. The beauty of the place revealed to me the wonders that God has created and prepared the land where my vocation would be sown. We were accompanied by Father Miguel Cavallé, L.C., ordained just a few months earlier. Father Miguel made a strong impression on me in the first days; he was the one who prayed the most, made the most jokes, was the first to go out to mission, and he and I were the only ones who repeated plates of pozole at dinners in the families’ homes. “This priest lives to the fullest, he’s the first in everything! What a good priest.” The missions opened my eyes to a reality I did not know: the lack of missionaries, catechists, people who transmit the faith, teach it, but above all, priests who celebrate the sacraments and “shepherd the flock.” The parish priest had to serve a dozen communities. He couldn’t keep up. He visited this community once a week; arrived half an hour before Mass to hear confessions, celebrated, and then got into his pickup truck to reach the next community along dirt roads.

The first days, we visited all the houses walking many kilometers, climbing and descending valleys and slopes. By Thursday night, I was exhausted. Sitting on one of the last benches in the chapel, I listened to Oscar, the consecrated member, reflect on the Gospel passage of the miraculous catch of fish. The words of Jesus to Peter stayed engraved in my heart: “Put out into the deep! Do not be afraid! Come, follow me, and from now on, you will be fishers of men (cf. Lk. 5:1-11).” At that moment, I felt they meant for me: Don’t stay on the comfortable shore, trust me, give me a little more. You have experienced the lack of priests—why aren’t you a priest? Like Father Miguel. I was surprised by this inspiration—could it be true that God is calling me? It would involve many changes in my life that scared me… leaving the shore.

Despite having lived the last few years with the Legionaries at school, I had never considered becoming a priest. The next day, I talked with Oscar, and he suggested I go to the Student Center in Mexico City to continue my high school and begin a vocational discernment. I liked the idea; however, in the following weeks, I told my parents about what I felt during the missions, and they suggested I finish high school at Cumbres Mérida and then consider the vocation. That’s what I did.

The years of high school were full of activities of Regnum Christi and ECYD, of which I went from being a member to team leader. Retreats, workshops, apostolates, talks, group dynamics, film forums, Eucharistic hours, etc., helped me stay close to Jesus and do something so others could get to know Him better. During the three Holy Weeks, I went on missions, and they were my favorite weeks, even more than the family vacation week in Cancún. I went out partying with my friends, in a fun and healthy environment, with the typical teenage difficulties. Yet, frequently when I opened my Bible for prayer, this came back to my heart: “Alejandro, sail out to sea! Come, follow me.”

At that time, I was not open to my vocation, although I recognized I had much to thank God for and wanted to do something for Him. My family had grown very close to the faith, thanks to school and especially to a great parish priest who, with his friendship and closeness, brought my dad closer to the faith. I was doing well in studies, had a very good group of friends, enjoyed parties, and was happy in my role as team leader of a group of ECYD teenagers. I disagreed with the prejudice of many classmates who said that if you got too involved with the parents in ECYD or Regnum Christi, you would end up like a priest. I wanted to prove that wasn’t true; I wanted to be an authentic Christian and do apostolate without necessarily ending up in seminary, and at the same time, I felt the inquietude that God was calling me personally, though I wasn’t fully sure. I remember asking Father Mario desperately during a retreat how to hear God, how to be sure that something comes from Him or is just my own idea or someone else’s. He tried to explain calmly, but it didn’t help much. It would take me several years to learn this art of listening to God in prayer.

In December 2002, some friends from Germany visited us and offered me to spend a few months with them to learn German when I finished high school. I was excited about going to Germany. Another option was to serve as a collaborator for Regnum Christi. I knew several former collaborators, and they all returned telling wonderful things about their year of apostolate. In January 2004, during a spiritual direction session with Father Luis, he suggested I consider spending a year as a collaborator in Germany. I liked the idea; I started taking German classes, proposed this plan to my parents, and they agreed. But deep down, I knew that if I went as a collaborator, I couldn’t avoid the question of vocation, and that’s why I hesitated.

That’s how I arrived at the Holy Week mission in Pimientita with five other missionary friends. That Holy Thursday night, I had to decide whether to go as a collaborator or not, to face the vocation question or keep delaying it. After much struggle, I told God: “I acknowledge I owe you a lot, and I don’t want to be ungrateful, so I give you a year as a collaborator, and that’s it (pay off that ‘debt’), okay? If you call me, speak more clearly.” Today I laugh at this attitude, but I believe it was enough for God; He was patient with me and accepted my deal. Two days later, He would gift me one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. Holy Saturday, I was asked to preside over the paraliturgy of the Easter Vigil. The priest had warned us He would come for us at 6:30 pm sharp to take us to the larger town and then arrive punctually at another celebration. So, we left everything ready—chapel decorated, bags packed, the fire lit—and around 5 pm, we began the celebration. I preached a short exhortation on the resurrection, inviting peace and reconciliation among many broken families. Distributing communion was a moment of great joy and satisfaction. Could I do this all my life?

We finished the liturgy just as the priest arrived and hurried us to get into the truck. I wanted to say goodbye to the people, to the children, and I barely managed to say farewell to a few because of the rush. Sad and annoyed, I got into the truck, carrying in my hands the ciborium with the Eucharist, the consecrated hosts that had been left over. With my eyes closed, in the passenger seat, I cried from sadness with Jesus in my hands for not being able to finish the mission thanking the people, saying goodbye to those who fed us, etc. The dirt road was very bad, full of holes and stones that made the truck jump and shake constantly. However, after a few minutes, I immersed myself in a delightful dialogue with Jesus Eucharist, losing track of time and the road. I don’t remember how long this dialogue lasted, only that upon reaching our destination, my heart was consoled. I was very grateful for having done missions there, for having been able to represent Jesus as an extraordinary minister of the liturgy and communion, for having lived those missions with several of my high school friends who had never gone before. I was very grateful to God for the testimony of the Catholics of Pimientita and their simple but lively faith. I had brought them something precious—something no one but a priest could give: the Word of God and Communion during all the days of Holy Week. And they truly valued it. I got out of the truck, went to the church tabernacle to deposit the ciborium, and then went to continue my silent dialogue with Jesus. Other missionaries celebrated and talked in the distance, but I didn’t want to miss that moment of immense joy. After that, I confirmed to God my desire to be a collaborator.

At the end of high school, I had taken an entrance exam to study engineering at the University of Mayab and had been admitted, even keeping the scholarship I had earned for when I entered after a year as a collaborator. To pay for the training course for collaborators, I had to give up my graduation trip and make other sacrifices, but they were worth it. There is not a month in my life that has marked me as much as my training course as a collaborator in the summer of 2004. Thanks to Father Luis Ignacio’s guidance, I learned to pray, to listen and speak with God. The priests and consecrated members worked hard to help us better know Jesus—not just what the Scriptures say, but also His personality, how He reacts, speaks, and thinks. We had talks and testimonies that helped me better understand what Regnum Christi is and what it seeks. The most important thing was the many friends I made among the 80 collaborators that year. What a lively atmosphere! Nothing discouraged us, not even the rain, which didn’t stop us from playing volleyball or soccer. I received the news that I would be a collaborator in Düsseldorf, Germany.

While processing my visa, I accompanied Emilio, a consecrated member, on a trip through Cotija, Michoacán, and its surroundings. Even today, after learning about the double life of the founder, I am grateful to God for that month. I was deeply impressed by the devotion of the people of the city. Weekday Masses at 7:00 am filled with children before going to school. Devotion to the Virgin and the Sacred Heart is everywhere. The townspeople usually live charity with the needy and benevolence. Looking back, I see that many things I now live as a Legionary, and that the founder and the first Legionaries preached a lot, they acquired through osmosis from their land. My godparents gave me a simple digital camera, and from there, my passion for photography began.

In October, I arrived in Germany and began the entrusted task of promoting the World Youth Day that would be in Cologne in August 2005, and preparing logistics, accommodation, train tickets, etc., for the group of pilgrims from Regnum Christi coming from all over the world. This task helped me grow a lot personally: learning another language, overcoming shyness, picking up the phone, and encouraging other young people and parents to attend the encounter with the Holy Father. However, what I am most grateful for that year is the testimony of the Legionary priests from the community where I was: Father Klaus, Father Paul, Father Benoit, Father Sergio, Brother Carlos, and two other young collaborators who are now great friends, Peter and Bruno. The community was very joyful and full of charity—who would have thought that among these priests there is so much joy, they have so much fun, help each other so much, and have such apostolic zeal? Both the days of apostolate and the days of fellowship were a delight. I was even more impressed to visit the Novitiate in Bad Münstereifel. All the novices were young, cheerful, from various countries, and they invited me to sit and play with them. The building had many windows, and although they prayed a lot, they didn’t look bored or downcast—quite the opposite. My concept of a seminary changed completely. In November, I attended the priestly ordinations in Rome of a large number of Legionaries, and in December, I returned for a pilgrimage with the other collaborators and, after New Year’s, to do spiritual exercises. Making my first general confession, of my whole life, was difficult and painful, but also a liberating experience of God’s love. It was like dropping a fifty-kilo burden I had been carrying. That’s where God clearly spoke to me: “I love you as you are; I don’t care about your past, what you have done or left undone. Come, follow me. I do not call you to a boring life; I call you to be happy as a priest, giving my Word and My Body to others.” I still remember the place and time when God granted me the grace of that certainty of being called: walking down a corridor in the basement around six in the evening, walking alongside another priest. I was determined to at least go to the candidacy; now I had to tell my parents. I prayed intensely that they would take it well and support me. When I called them, my mother said she sensed it, and to my surprise, my father supported me: “If that’s what you want, go ahead.” It was clear to me that if I wanted to persevere as a priest, I needed a community. There are priests who live alone and are faithful, but I was convinced that wasn’t the path for me.